War of the Four Lands: The Southern Shards
by TennisWriter456
Summary: Part 2: Link and his friends have managed to find the first two pieces of the Triforce. Though the price was heavy. Now they're going south, to the Zora Isles, to search for the next two shards. They'll find themselves sailing the Great Sea with new allies and confronting terrifying new enemies while Anowaika searches for her father and Zelda tracks their every move.
1. Prologue

**hello beautiful people!**

 **welcome to the second book of my four-part series, War of the Four Lands :)**

 **if you're here then you probably read the first part**

 **if you haven't**

 **go read it!**

 **this one will definitely be shorter than the first because there isn't as much as exposition necessary you know what i'm sayin**

 **but, like the last book, it will be four 'parts.' this is just the prologue, first part starts with the first real chapter**

 **it is not even close to being finished but I thought I'd post this because PATIENCE IS NOT ONE OF MY VIRTUES #noragrets**

 **(full summary of the series in the prologue of my first book, if you need a refresher!)**

 **enjoy**

 **lemme know what you think, what you hope to see, what you think is gonna happen, ask me questions, anything! hearing predictions is my fav because I can either be like wow you're right or LAUGH AT YOU FROM BEHIND THE SCREEN HAHAHAHAHAHAHA**

 **(jk i won't laugh at you)**

 **(jk yes i will)**

 **love forever and always!**

 **xoxo**

* * *

Prologue

The Prisoner in Cell 39

"Okay, who's supposed to feed him today?"

"Pretty sure you are, Rami."

"What? _Me?_ But I fed him on Monday."

"Yes. And now it's Friday. It's your turn."

The young man with the bright purple hair and golden eyes and freckles, whom the others called Rami, began wringing his hands together and looking at each of his comrades with an expression of barbaric desperation. At the other guards who were on duty in the fifth ward, that is. Sitting at their table, discussing what was always the most important issue of every day: who would have to feed the prisoner in cell 39. The one in the straitjacket, who needed to be fed because the wardens (and the world, evidently) couldn't afford to let him out of the straitjacket. It had taken them years to get it on in the first place. But Rami was convinced that of the four of them, he was by far the most frightened of this prisoner. He felt, deep inside, that the prisoner felt a particular pleasure in toying with him specifically. There was always a look in his eyes that made Rami shake at his very core. As the other three guards looked at him with expectant gazes, he considered begging them. Considered getting on his knees and saying Please please no don't make me do it.

But he knew that none of them wanted to do it, either. He knew that none of his pleas would make a difference. He would have to feed the prisoner of cell 39 today.

They prepared the tray. Put on it the usual—a few pieces of meat, bread, a slice of cheese, a glass of water. They hadn't even cooked the meat. Juice seeped from its pink flesh onto the cracked, dirty plate on which it sat. The other guards didn't look smug or satisfied when they handed the tray to Rami. Rather, they looked pitying. One gave him a soft pat on the back and said, "Godspeed."

Rami took the tray and gripped it so tightly that his knuckles turned white as he walked down the hall of the fifth ward. There were so many other cells, he mused—so many other wards in this prison. The biggest prison in all of Hyrule. So many other prisons, even. Other prisons, other wards, other cells, other prisoners. And yet, he was stuck in Arbiteraris prison, the fifth ward, cell 39, the prisoner in the straitjacket. As he walked, his guard's cape billowed around him, and he wished that he had taken it off. He ignored, as always, the calls of the other prisoners. The jeers and the laughs and the pleas—dog of the queen—help me boy—dirty half-breed (it was obvious from his eyes)—get me out of here.

He kept walking until he reached cell 39. It was one of the special cells. What the other prisoners had come to call Blind Cells, because it was rumored that it was so white inside them that one could go blind from just being there. Rami thought it was a silly rumor, because he had been in there so many times and had never come close to blindness. Neither had the prisoner in the straitjacket. These cells, which were scattered among the wards, were saved for the prisoners that, more than being criminals, showed signs of insanity. Whatever that meant. Rami wasn't sure how it was decided who was thrown into the Blind Cells, but he had always agreed that the prisoner in the straitjacket needed one.

With shaking limbs, he approached the door to cell 39. (No matter how many times he had done this, it was frightening every single time to the same degree.) He pulled the key from within his cape and thrust it into the large, heavy metal door. It was surrounded by a white wall that made the cell stick out like a sore thumb among the other doors. Before he opened it, he knocked. Not really knowing why. Then he gently opened it and slipped inside, making sure to close it behind him. It almost shut on his cape.

At first, he didn't see anybody inside, and he felt his stomach churn. Had he already managed to screw up, allowing the prisoner in the straitjacket to escape? He stumbled a few steps, the plates and silverware clattering together on the tray. All of the walls were white, the ceiling was white, the floor was white—there was no hint of darkness or any color other than white. There was also no hint of the prisoner. Rami began murmuring hastily to himself, was close to hyperventilating, felt his heart racing.

"Where is he, where is he," he kept repeating, looking from corner to corner. "Oh no, oh no, where is he?" Rami even found himself looking up at the ceiling, as if the prisoner could have somehow stitched himself to the fibers there.

"Ah, good, it's you. The cute one." The voice came from behind him, whispering in his ear, so close that he could feel the warmth of a mysterious breath. Rami bit down on his tongue to keep from screaming and gripped the tray more tightly, lest he drop it from how startled he was. He didn't move his head, but tried to look at the source of the voice. The one who was standing behind him, was now leaning his chin on Rami's shoulder—the prisoner in the straitjacket.

He was smiling, his lips curled and hovering too close to the skin of Rami's neck. His eyes were nothing but black, a stark contrast to the white that surrounded them. Deep, heavy, purple bags lined the lids beneath his eyes, and came to sharp points. Although, more than bags from sleeplessness or stressed, they looked like he himself had put them there, with a steady hand and purple charcoal. Those eyes looked dull, yet full of life at the same time. A strange, vibrant kind of dullness. Sharpness, cruelty encased in those eyes and purple liner. And his skin, especially this close, looked painted. Gray—with a dark green hue. It didn't look like the skin of any race Rami knew. It was too smooth, too gray, too green. His mouth was the most frightening part, though. His lips were thin and constantly smiling and just as white as the Blind Cell. And, as someone else might fix her hair or chew his nails or stretch her arms, he licked those lips. Every few moments. With his long, pink tongue.

"I love it when they send you," he murmured. His voice was stretched and graceful, sent fear like a lightning bolt to Rami's core. "The adorable little half-breed."

Rami finally snapped out of his paralysis and turned around to face the prisoner. But there was no point in trying to hide his fear. It had poured into every crevice of his being. The prisoner in the straitjacket was much taller than he was, and he stood much straighter (Rami was surprised that being in a straitjacket for three years hadn't destroyed his arrow-like posture). His hair, as white as his lips, fell in unkempt tangles in a thick clump of hair on only one side—so thick it hid his left eye. His ears were longer and more pointed than a normal Hylian's. As Rami stood, watching him, the prisoner laughed a deep, earth-shattering laugh.

"Come to feed me like a baby again, have we?" he said. "All right, then. You should feel very special, half-breed. I do like you the best, you know." The prisoner in the straitjacket licked his lips and sat down, stretched out his long legs and leaned back against one of the white walls. He leaned his head back. "Well, I'm ready. Come feed me."

Rami moved forward to where the prisoner was sitting and crouched down beside him. He was glad to be able to put the tray down, because the sound of the plate crashing down against it was getting too loud for comfort. It betrayed his fear much too clearly. He put a piece of meat onto the fork and lifted it. The prisoner looked at him with a smile, that same smile that seemed forever on his lips, and opened his mouth. I should be used to this, Rami told himself. I've done it loads of times. He put the fork into the prisoner's mouth and waited for him to bite down. He slowly clamped his teeth around the fork, pulled on the meat, chewed it. Never taking his eyes off Rami. But Rami could not maintain eye contact for more than a few moments. He fed him the next bite. Some juice slipped from the corner of his mouth. Before Rami could wipe it with the napkin, he let his tongue fall from between his lips and licked it off himself. Then he licked his lips again, and Rami swallowed.

"What is your name?" the prisoner suddenly asked. "So rude of me for never asking. My deepest apologies. But better late than never, I suppose."

"M-my name?"

"Yes, my adorable little half-breed," he laughed. "Your name. You must have one."

"Rami."

"Rami. I suppose you got that from your mother. It rolls of the tongue rather nicely." He paused, and opened his mouth for another bite. Rami gave it to him, somehow anxious that this prisoner now knew his name. Wondering why he had given it to him in the first place. "I have a favor to ask of you, Rami. Won't you be a doll and tell them to bring me a comb next time? It's been ages since I've brushed my hair and it's beginning to get all tangled, you see. And I simply can't have that. No, no. Will you do that for me, Rami?"

Rami could do nothing but nod silently and bring the glass of water to the prisoner's lips. He was silent for a few minutes, watching Rami like a hawk, eating his food and licking his lips. Smiling. Always smiling. His sister had once asked him to describe the smile, but Rami had never been able to.

Suddenly, the prisoner's eyes widened and his mouth opened and he made a sound of agony. He looked as if he had just been stabbed through the heart, his face turned up to the ceiling, his black pupils transparently small and the veins visible from beneath the surface of his skin. Rami fell back onto his hands while the prisoner sat like that, not screaming and not speaking but making that same sound. Like a knife were being twisted inside his stomach. Rami had never seen him like this—beneath the straitjacket, his arms began to move, struggle, as if of their own will.

After a few moments, the prisoner blinked and lowered his face, closed his eyes, let his head hang. He looked as if he had fallen asleep. Rami had spilled the water.

Then, the prisoner began to laugh. Softly, so that his entire body trembled just slightly. After a few moments the laugh grew louder, louder, louder. Until he threw his head back and guffawed with a sound that sent shivers down Rami's back, made him so alert that he jumped up and stumbled backward. He watched the prisoner laugh, frozen in place by some invisible and deadly force. He wanted (and knew it was a good idea) to just leave and lock the door and tell the others that he was done, that he would _not_ feed the prisoner in cell 39 anymore. Just then, the prisoner jumped to his feet swiftly and gracefully, so quickly that Rami would have missed it if had blinked. Like a string attached to his neck had lifted him up. How he had done it in the straitjacket...

"What a delicious meal," the prisoner mused between his laughs, which had died down again to soft chuckles. "Delicious, delicious, _delicious_."

And then, what Rami had only seen in his nightmares, happened.

The prisoner broke straight through his straitjacket, stretching his graceful arms out like wings. Cutting through it like butter. Before he could run, before he could scream, before he could even blink, the prisoner snapped his fingers and disappeared. Then in a flash of red and white he appeared, like smoke, right behind him. He put his hand, with his long untrimmed fingernails, across Rami's neck and put his other hand around Rami's waist, effectively trapping him against him. As he laughed into Rami's ear, his index finger ran along the skin of his neck, and his nail drew blood. Rami stood completely still and held his breath.

"How rude of you, my adorable little half-breed," he mused. "You never did ask my name, did you? Although I suppose it's of little consequence now. I shall be gone soon enough."

Rami suddenly felt the pressure of the prisoner's tongue on his skin, and he wished for a moment that he had never been born. To avoid this strange, terrible, agonizing feeling that overcame every inch of his body.

"The time is almost upon us. Ah, I can just smell it. The blood that will be shed—I can smell it as if it were right here." The prisoner lifted his finger, the one with Rami's blood on it, and licked it. Let the droplets of blood hang from the tip of his tongue. "It seems your queen has made a very terrible decision, Rami. A very terrible decision indeed."

Without warning, the prisoner (now without the straitjacket) let go of Rami and snapped his fingers again—and was suddenly at the other corner of the room, leaning against the wall, his face tilted back and his hand on his forehead.

"My name is Ghirahim," he said. "Remember it fondly, won't you? Now run along, boy, and tell them to get another straitjacket. Before the temptation to leave becomes too great."

He licked his lips one more time and, before Rami left, added, "And don't forget about the comb, my adorable little half-breed! My hair really does need it."


	2. Owners of the Harbor

**welp.**

 **that was a really long unplanned hiatus.**

 **but hey look i'm back! hi! whats up! thx for your continued support! and thx for reading my story!**

 **it's still happening i promise!**

 **it's still not finished because i decided for some reason that i wanna be a doctor and now i'm drowning in pre-med bullshit so it's a work in progress but i AT THE VERY LEAST owe y'all the next chapter so here it is**

 **hopefully i can continue writing it soon because omg i have so many ideas and i know exactly how i want the story to go for the first time in my god damn life**

 **i just need to actually put pen to paper (or finger to keyboard if that's your thing)**

 **anywho, the first part of four starts here! chapter one!**

 **REFRESHER:**

 **link & co. have just fled ordon, where malon & co. started a riot that essentially ended in a massacre and are now headed to the Zora Isles, where they shall seek out the next two shards of the Triforce**

 **idk if i mentioned this but each book is going to concentrate a little bit on the different characters of link's gang**

 **so the first part was link, obviously**

 **this book shall concentrate more on Anowaika and her backstory and such**

 **(but link is still the main character so sorry ano you can't hog the spotlight the whole time)**

 **i'll shut up now so you can read**

 **i love you all to the moon and back**

 **xoxo**

* * *

 ** _PART ONE_**  
 _ **TO SAIL THE SEAS**_

* * *

Chapter One

Owners of the Harbor

"We need armor."

People were looking at them strangely. For more reasons than one, Anowaika assumed. They were a strange looking group. Evidently brought together by some twist of fate, for it was obvious that they would not have met otherwise. A Hylian, a Zora, a Goron, and a Gerudo with seemingly nothing in common. Travelling with a calm, quiet wolf. The wolf, maybe, was the most awe-inducing member of their group. He had joined them on their travels to Pohoma Harbor. The Iron Warriors had tried to take him away at every checkpoint, every gate at every town, but somehow, they hadn't been able to. Twilight was his name. And he was like a fixture at Link's side. Walked beside him, sat beside him, curled beside him when they slept. The wolf kept people at a reasonable distance while they whispered, How'd that thing get in here?! If Zelda's henchmen are good for one thing, it should at least be getting rid of beasts like that!

Raazi liked the wolf, too. Anowaika was ambivalent. She liked animals, but having a wolf around made her nervous. Vukan was even more indifferent than Anowaika was.

 _How long has it been?_ Anowaika thought, as they walked through the gates of Pohoma Harbor. The port town where the borders of the Hylian Cities and the Zora Isles merged. _How long has it been since we left Ordon?_

At an earlier checkpoint, they had rented out stalls in a stable and decided it would be best to leave Epona and Flare, until their return from the Great Sea.

She took a deep breath and could smell the ocean air. Not river air, like she was used to in Castilia. It was something new, fresh, but familiar, too. Something she felt she had been missing for so long. She was a Sea Zora, after all. Her ancestors came from the sea, her people came from the sea. She could hear the chirping of the seagulls, see the new brightness of the sky—a brightness that could only come from the ocean, she decided. Because she had never seen the sky so blue before. She took out her pictograph box and, while she wasn't looking, snapped a pictograph of Raazi looking up at the sky with her cat-like eyes and gentle, mysterious smile. Then she turned and snapped one of Vukan, but he tried to turn away. He never did like the pictographs, but usually he'd give in if Anowaika begged enough.

She decided not to take one of Link.

It wasn't the best time.

 _A few weeks of travel, maybe?_

She watched him walk, Twilight at his side, staring straight ahead with his hands in his pockets and his steps as deliberate as she had ever seen them. They were passing the stores, walking under the awnings, making their way along the bright cobblestone paths and past the colorful houses. Most of them white, with beautiful gardens on the roofs. A habit Hylians had developed, it seemed. But some houses were Zora homes—similar to the one that Anowaika and Vukan had lived in, back in Castilia. Beautiful and blue and imitating a rainbow, twirling up like a seashell. She saw more Zoras here than she'd ever seen before, even at the harbor in Castilia. They all kept their eyes peeled for some sort of armory. Because Link seemed to have decided that they were going to buy new armor.

Anowaika didn't want to imagine the look on his face. Something had changed in him. It had been changing in him since they'd rode away two weeks ago, leaving a flaming Ordon behind them. He had been even less talkative than usual. Anowaika wasn't sure that he'd slept at all. Not that she could blame him. They were all affected. All kept awake at night by the memory of what had happened in Ordon. They'd heard Iron Warriors talking about it at checkpoints, read newspapers depicting the event in a way completely contrary to the way it had happened. Headlines read:

 _People of Ordon attack Iron Warriors in an act of terrorism_

 _Dangerous uprising quelled in the bloody streets of Ordon_

 _Iron Warriors save Ordonians from terrorist infiltration_

They saw the pictographs. Ordon was almost completely decimated. Nobody knew if the civilians would try to rebuild...or if there were enough to even do it.

Malon's pictograph had made the front page. She was labeled "the Fire-Starter of Ordon," and though she had survived, was imprisoned. They had sent her to Arbiteraris in the Gerudo Deserts, home of the largest prison in all four lands.

And Anowaika knew as well as anybody what would happen to her there.

Anowaika closed her eyes and shook her head, tried to rid herself of the images. She didn't want to forget—no, forgetting was disrespectful, would have made the Ordonians' sacrifice useless. But she wanted to move forward, too. She wanted to make sure that they did something, that they kept going, because that was what Ordon would have wanted.

And Anowaika needed to admit to herself that she had never been so excited in her life.

 _I'm coming back,_ she thought, _back to a home that I've never been to._

Anowaika couldn't remember a time that she hadn't dreamed of coming to the Zora Isles. Coming to understand the roots of her family, the reasons her grandmother and mother fled so long ago, why they had never returned. It was a part of her identity that she had never known. Like a long-lost relative, to whom she had been writing forlorn letters all her life, and was finally going to meet in person.

 _Who knows? Maybe that'll actually happen._

She couldn't conceal the smile on her face. She made eye contact with the other Zoras around her and felt a swell of pride, watching the streets and the people fluctuate between a land of Zoras and a land of Hylians. And she was walking straight to the land of Zoras. Not to mention the town of Pohoma Harbor was perhaps one of the most beautiful towns she had ever seen (not that she had seen many). Being next to sea did something to the town, lifted it, made it brighter.

 _Then again, I'm a little biased._

She remembered the stories her mother used to tell her about the Great Sea, and about Isle Hylia—the capital of the Zora Isles. It was where her mother had grown up, and where the Royal Family of Zoras once ruled. They still did, but their monarchy was a puppet one. King Ralis V was but a figurehead, sitting on his throne in Zora's Domain while Queen Zelda ruled from her own throne in Castilia. Anowaika's mother had been very careful to tiptoe around the subject, telling stories to a young and naïve and bright-eyed Anowaika, but as she had grown older, she came to understand. She wasn't sure at what point she'd understood. Maybe it had happened gradually. Everybody in the Four Lands knew that the Zoran Royal Family was nothing. Had no real power.

Anowaika's own mother had been named after a Zoran queen who had lived long ago—in the Era of Twilight, it was rumored. Her mother's name was Rutela. And she had named her daughter Anowaika, which meant _sparkling waters_ in Zoran. To always remind her of her roots.

 _I'm coming home, Mommy._

 _Maybe I'll even find Dad._

She felt a hand on her shoulder. She glanced back and met Vukan's eyes, and smiled at him. She wished he wasn't coming, if she was being honest. He was the only Goron in sight for miles, probably. Having him around so much water made her nervous. Gorons sunk like rocks. But, in a way, she was happy to have him around. Ever since her mother had died when she'd been seventeen, Vukan had been her family.

Link suddenly turned and walked into an armory. They followed him in. They bought their armor.

Anowaika didn't buy much. Her skin was tough, and she felt that she'd be more powerful in her own land. Vukan didn't buy much, either. There wasn't much in the Zora Isles that could touch him. Raazi bought a scarf, embroidered in beautiful, traditional Zoran tribal designs (very different from her Gerudic wardrobe), bronze chest pads that left her stomach exposed, bronze shoulder pads, bronze covers from her wrists to her elbows, a black, flowing skirt that was just long enough to cover the leg bracer that carried her vials. It flowed in only the way Zoras could make fabric flow. She looked ravishing. Anowaika had always been a little bit jealous of Raazi's beauty. Even among Gerudos, known by some as the Race of Beauty. Raazi seemed to resent that.

Link bought the most, though. First, he bought a shield. It was fashioned in the Hylian design, with the emblem of the Royal Family (the Triforce for which they were searching) and intricate, blue and gold designs. He bought it without a word of complaint. He bought pads for his arms, a leather covering for his chest and neck, an iron cover for his left shoulder, thigh-padding, a green tunic...but didn't put any of it on. He bought it all and stuck it into his bag. He also bought a cape. Anowaika watched, sorrow in her eyes, as he threw away the dirty, bloodstained tunic he had been wearing. His face was like stone, colder than she'd ever seen it, with the sparkle lacking in his eyes.

He put on a white undershirt, fixed the leather glove on his left hand (the new one Damita had fashioned for him), and shrugged the dark, forest green cape over his shoulders. He rolled it up to his elbows, leaving his arms and their scars fully exposed. At his waist, hidden beneath the tied waist of the cape, was a belt, at which he held his boomerang and other materials. His hair had grown longer, so when he tied it up, his ponytail was thicker than before. And Anowaika couldn't remember the last time his face had looked so rough. She recalled him having a ritual of shaving at least once a week. But he hadn't shaved since they'd left Ordon. All in all, Link was cold, quiet, unkempt, embodied physically the rogue that he was mentally.

 _He needs time. After what happened in Ordon...he just needs time._

Finally, he bought a new sheath for his sword, one that crossed in front of his chest and held the sheath against his back. He slung that sword, with its ragged brown-clothed hilt, along with his bow and quiver, across his back.

As a finishing touch, Raazi touched his forehead, brushed the long tangled hair from his face, and bought him a blue scarf with the Triforce stitched in red. She wrapped it around his neck, murmured something in her native tongue. Anowaika told him that he looked very dramatic.

He brushed her off and led them out of the store, Twilight still at his heels. As he walked, he pulled the hood of the cape over his head, until even his brilliant blue irises were only barely visible.

Shad, from Castilia, had sent them a map of the Zora Isles detailing exactly where they were to go, and describing how they were to get there. Ironically enough, Shad had a strong ally who owned a ship and was a merchant in the Great Sea, and agreed to meet them at Pohoma Harbor and take them to the isles they needed. Shad had said that, if they made their way to the harbor, they would be recognized. Anowaika found that a little hard to believe—for once they reached the harbor, it was chaos. More ships than Anowaika had ever seen, small ones and big ones, some brandishing dramatic flags and booming sails on masts as tall as a building, some with nothing but what looked like a tiny blanket carrying them along. Hustles and bustles of Hylians, Zoras, even Gerudos, advertising wares and gathering crews for the upcoming journey into the Great Sea. Anowaika smiled her famous smile and began with the pictographs. She could have sworn she heard Twilight growl softly, as if in complaint.

"This is incredible," she breathed.

"Harbors are festive places," Raazi replied. "They are places where journey begins. Do you not agree?"

"Definitely. I've never seen anything like this. So many more people here than at the ports in Castilia..."

"Those are rivers, little fish," she chuckled. "Nothing compared to the sea."

They followed Link a little bit aimlessly, waiting to be recognized. People moved to make a path for him because of his austere presence and, perhaps more obviously, the wolf trudging along at his side. Anowaika was certain that if Vukan hadn't been there to easily clear a path for _her_ , she would have gotten lost in the throng of sailors, fishermen, merchants. People setting out for the beautiful Zora Isles.

"Oy, mate! Hold up there!"

They heard a bellowing voice, dramatic and commanding in its tone. The five of them stopped, knowing that the voice had been addressing them.

And then, they saw them. Pushing their way through the crowd. Two people who looked like they owned the entire harbor. Every single person stopped, stared at them, then cleared a path for them. Whispering amongst each other. They knew who these people were, well enough that they made sure they had a cleared path to walk.

A man, walking with his chin up and his shoulders back who seemed unbelievably tall (even though he was pretty short, only a little bit taller than Link). He wore a blue jacket with gold embroidery and frilled out sleeves, and beneath it a loose collared white shirt tied such that the tip of his chest hair was visible. His pants were the same shade of blue, puffed out, and he wore the most extravagant black boots—the kind that shimmered in the sun. But the most outlandish thing about him was his hat. It was a massive thing that curved around his head and was ornamented with white, thinned feathers. He had tan skin, dark eyes, brown locks that waved down to his shoulders, a perfectly groomed mustache and beard and dramatic sideburns. His eyebrows were thick and turned down while he smiled with thin lips, like his face was a mash-up of different faces. When he got closer and stood in front of them, hands on his hips, Anowaika noticed a scar that crossed the bridge of his crooked nose—which was a rather strange shade of red. He had a large tobacco pipe hanging from his lips.

Beside him, a woman, with one eyebrow raised and skin even darker than his. She walked so deliberately, almost frighteningly, and her body seemed too small for her stature. She wore a nice, flowing white shirt, tucked into a thick red belt that held up a purple skirt, flowing all the way to her ankles, concealing black boots similar to the other man's. The amount of jewelry she was wearing rivaled even Raazi—not quite as much, but ridiculously close. Earrings on her (round?) ears that dangled to her shoulders, bracelets and rings adorning her wrists and her fingers, a necklace with a huge pendant in the center of her chest. Her eyes were hazel, a bit lighter than the hair that was tied up into a ponytail and secured with a red headband. Her strangely thick lips smirked just like the man's thin ones, and Anowaika noticed a small silver piercing there on her bottom lip.

They looked, at first glance, a true force to be reckoned with. Though they didn't seem to be carrying any weapons.

"Ahoy," the man said gruffly, standing in front of them. Anowaika glanced at Vukan, who shrugged. Then she smiled back at them.

"Hello," she said.

"You Ravio, I'm guessin'?" he continued, gesturing toward Link. His smile was very nerve-wracking, Anowaika decided. With a hint of mischief. Link didn't respond.

"Are you...friends of Shad's?" Anowaika ventured. The man turned to her, with a look that pierced her very soul, bowed slightly at the waist, and winked.

"Cap'n Linebeck, at your service."


End file.
